


In a Mirror Brightly

by Poet_or_bandit_Productions



Series: The Game is the Dark Mirror-Verse. [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: A lot better, Dream nail, Gen, I just want them to be happy darnit!, Let me have this!, Loose interpretation of its powers, There's a reason for it, Vessels have gender, also, anyway, but rest assured, can't these guys just get a hug?, darn it, depressing start, eventually, gets better, hugs!!!, let it be known, like seriously, not at first, there will be, there will be HUGS!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poet_or_bandit_Productions/pseuds/Poet_or_bandit_Productions
Summary: The Radiance has been forever vanquished, and Hollownest falls eternally silent. As time goes on, more and more of those who survived the infection leave the molted shell of the dead kingdom. And as they do, Hornet slowly finds herself to be more and more alone, until all she has left is what little Ghost had collected before his final battle with the False Light. Slowly, she falls deeper and deeper into depression and despair. As she reminisces one night over the deaths of everyone she called family, she finds herself breaking down, and in a rare show of raw emotion, suddenly finds herself wishing that none of this had ever happened; that she could talk to her siblings, instead of killing them -- or at the very least talk to Ghost again. To her mother again. And yes, though cruel and uncaring as he was, even her father again.When she opens her eyes, she finds herself in a version of Hollownest unlike anything she has ever seen. Where the infection has been kept at bay, her siblings roam free, and the Pale King, while not perfect, is no monster.
Series: The Game is the Dark Mirror-Verse. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059479
Comments: 59
Kudos: 243





	1. Departure

Chapter 1: Departure

“Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

Iselda looked back one last time at the red cloaked spider, who’s gaze and body faced only back toward the kingdom. Iselda hadn’t known Hornet very well, and not for very long; she had only shown up occasionally at Dirtmouth, and only after the infection had apparently been destroyed. She had never been the most social; the most she had talked with her was actually when they occasionally met after she finally took up her husband’s offer to go through the kingdom in person. 

Hornet’s gaze and expression didn’t change at the question, it wasn’t the first time she had been asked it. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she was tempted to take up their offer. Cornifer hadn’t made any effort to hide their destination after all, and a kingdom supposedly ruled by song and silk sounded… appealing, to say the least.

But no. Even if everyone else did, she would not leave Hollownest. This ruined kingdom was all she knew, though it be nothing more than a shell at this point. Not to mention, she was still its heir and guardian; as pointless now the former of those now was, and self appointed the latter remained.

“Someone has to stay,” she replied, “someone has to keep even what little there is left in check. If not me, then who?”

Iselda’s expression fell just a bit further at the response. They were probably the last ones in the kingdom to leave. Sly had permanently retreated to his house and his pile of geo, locking the door and not letting anyone in. Bretta had left long ago to find love after she came to her senses regarding Zote. Zote himself had returned to the Colosseum of Fools, and when the inhabitants left after the infection being eliminated removed virtually all the content in their trials. 

Elderbug had peacefully passed away in his sleep not long ago, and was buried beside the friend he had finally visited. 

Iselda and Cornifer had closed up shop shortly after when the map business had caved in. She had seen others leave as well, and she knew from exploring that there were those who didn’t want to be disturbed. If Hornet fully understood the implications of her staying, and how alone it would make her, she didn’t show it. Finally, Iselda let out a sigh and turned away.

“Suit yourself,” she quietly said as she started walking to catch up with her husband; the distance between them growing further apart.

Hornet didn’t wait until she was out of sight to re-enter the Howling Cliffs. 

~~~

She wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. She honestly couldn’t tell anymore. One would think that without the constant threat of the infected, there would be more time and energy to dedicate to the passing days. In truth, the opposite had taken hold. So much of her time had been dedicated to the task of staying alive, that now that the reason for doing so was gone, she hardly knew how to do anything else.

The days and nights were blurring together like smeared ink. 

Not to mention since she was no longer having to always be moving, she was understandably less active and had far less to occupy her mind. This, as it seemed, would quickly become a much more serious problem that she thought possible.

For a while, she tried to dedicate much of her time to weaving. She regretted not paying better attention in her youth, as she found much of her abilities to be consistently inadequate. For the most experienced and skilled Weavers, weaving at times could be a relaxing, almost mindless task. This was not so for the Princess, who remembered far too little and was far too inexperienced to find it anything close to being mindless, or relaxing.

Because of this, after a while, weaving was simply no longer an effective way of casually passing the time; taking far too much effort in maintaining posture and making any stable progress. Often she found her projects to be riddled with mistakes to the point they were unsalvageable, and she had to start all over again. This made the process one of countless hours of tedious agony and frustration, only for all the effort to result in naught. 

Though she never lacked material -- there was plenty of silk stockpiled, and she did have the ability to make her own -- she found herself coming back to it less and less.

Strangely enough, not occupying her mind at all -- even with something that was probably more trouble that it was worth -- was starting to have a worse effect on her, and her mind.

The kingdom was dead. Almost  _ everything _ was dead. Everything that could be infected had been, and everything that had been infected finally stopped moving for good when the False Light had been vanquished. Those who managed to survive had left; this was total to the point that even simple bugs had cleared out. It was as if the kingdom’s lifeless husk was draining the very soul out of the hearts of its inhabitants, and they had just managed to leave and escape with their lives. 

A part of her pondered if this was perhaps a side effect to nothing being around to hold back The Void any longer. At the same time, she doubted it. That would have implied that the Void had a will all to its own, and as their father had demonstrated, the opposite had been far closer to the truth. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The silence to her was far more haunting than the sound of the infected. At least when the infected were standing, walking, hissing, she knew that there was some kind of life in the kingdom, as morbid as it was. Now though, there was nothing. Nothing in the Kingdom moved. She could lie down in the most obvious and vulnerable spot in the whole kingdom, fall asleep on the ground, and she wouldn’t have to worry about something coming to get her for the sheer fact that there was  _ nothing left there to hurt her. _

But most of all, it was  _ quiet _ . Even Deepnest, a place where there was always the sound of  _ something _ crawling around _ , _ was completely silent. When she walked, her footsteps would echo endlessly through the tunnels, bouncing around so fast and through so many interconnected paths at once that they sounded as if there was an army simultaneously walking from ahead of her, and behind her. 

She wasn’t sure when her sanity began to slip, when she lost her sense of direction, when she lost any sense of a stable sleep pattern, when her appetite waned to the point of being unable to remember the last time she ate, or when she swore that she began to see things and hear voices that she knew shouldn’t be there. What she was sure of was the moment she finally woke up. 

She had found herself in the Temple of The Black Egg. A stone was predominant in the center of it. The sight of it instantly snapped her back to sanity. Her eyes widened, the shock of everything coming back hitting her hard. Her footsteps were shaky as she stepped toward the stone, until she fell to her knees in front of it. Her hands buried into her face, and her body rocked with a sob.

She remembered why this was here. 

She was the one who put it there. 

It was a memorial. 

The Hollow Knight had received one years ago, and he had been a failure. 

She thought it wrong that the one who had actually  _ succeeded _ in the unfortunate and yet necessary task had no memorial commemorating  _ his _ sacrifice, or the sacrifice of the countless bodies forgotten down in the depths of The Abyss. 

So she had placed this stone here.

A simple marker atop the burial site of Ghost’s fractured mask, with all that he had owned on display. One at a time, she picked them back up and examined them.

A Pure Nail. Forged and engraved elegantly, perfectly, never needing to worry about it dulling out. The only other time she had ever seen a nail like this was Hollow’s during their fight with him.

A Shade Cloak. Something that had allowed him to explore places that even now she could not enter herself. She recognized it, it had once been the cloak of a vessel she had found… killed, in Greenpath.

The Crystal Heart. A powerful artifact that allowed someone to cross vast distances quickly. She rarely visited Crystal Peak. She hadn’t even known that these existed. It almost reminded her of her father’s treatment to her siblings.

A large collection of charms. She wasn’t even sure what most of these did. She had never asked. There had… never been a need.

And the hilt of what she assumed to be a broken nail. This last one she had always been the most curious about. She had little idea how it worked, as she had only seen Ghost use it once before; though she knew he had used it more than that. Her sleeping mother could attest to that.

Her grip tightened around the hilt, and she pressed it into her forehead at the memory. A painful wheeze escaped her mouth, and tears she wasn’t even aware she could still make began to flow down her mask. For the first time in a long time, she found herself wishing. Wishing that none of this had happened. That the infection had never taken Hollownest. That her mother had never become a dreamer. That Ghost was still alive. That she had never been forced to hunt down her own siblings. That Hollow didn’t have to suffer. That the Pale King hadn’t been so heartless, so arrogant, so cold and uncaring. That he had realized from the start that killing his own children because they weren’t hollow enough was  _ not a good thing. _

And she wished if such a place existed, and if anyone was listening, that she could be taken there.

Her painful thoughts and musings were interrupted by a glow from the nail still pressed against her forehead. Before she could draw her attention away to address it, it flashed, and she suddenly felt the floor of the temple suddenly disappear from under her.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Lucid Arrival

Chapter 2: Lucid Arrival

The flash ended, and Hornet for a very brief moment felt herself floating; then she fell a short distance and hit the ground beneath her. Ignoring the surprise and pain, she realized something. It felt… odd. Everything did. 

She opened her eyes, and stood up in confusion. She was on a very small island, suspended impossibly in midair. There were other islands at various distances away, some having a roof, others not, all hovering like the one she was on. Besides them, there were also symbols of various sizes, forming and fading with no discernable patterns. Some were solid, others glowed translucently. She’d have noted their odd beauty if it wasn’t for the fact that she had no idea what this place was. 

_ “A sorrow filled spider stumbles into a sad dream.” _

She spun around at the sound of the voice. She hadn’t heard it audibly, it was like it had just appeared in her mind. Her eyes widened at the sight of what appeared to be a moth. It was transparent, and glowing like the symbols. The moth didn’t wait for Hornet to reply.

_ “How cruel a journey you have been made to endure. How tragic your existence remains. Would you step back into such a cruel fate? Or would you use that weapon, awoken by the one before you, to cut your way into a better world?” _

The moth faded away, disappearing into the background of the strange realm. 

The spider was shocked. Was this the place Ghost had gone when he had silenced her mother? Was this the realm the dreamers had remained for so long? She didn’t understand, and her mind was still too much in shock to process what was going on. After a moment though, she looked down at the hilt still in her hand. 

Like so much else in this place, it was glowing. Something was radiating off of it, something powerful. Her body seemed to move on its own, she hadn't told it to and yet she found herself holding the nail above her head. The glowing intensified, and the weapon seemed to almost be cutting through something. Then there was a powerful flash, and Hornet once again found herself falling as she began to lose (or perhaps gain?) consciousness. 

~ ~ ~

The Pale King stared down at the bottom of the paper, reading between the lines of the proposal sitting on his desk. He had been putting this one and the others off for most of the day now, avoiding them until it was absolutely necessary. It was all the paperwork he had left to do, and then he would be done for the night. The items in question were proposals on how to deal with the Stag problem.

As the population of Hollownest continued to rise, it brought further demand for transportation of a higher carrying capacity than what was available. Coupled with an aging fleet of Stags long past their prime, a decline in their breeding numbers, and it wasn’t difficult to see that they were beginning to become obsolete. 

Unlike tram systems however, which were just metal that could be replaced or recycled, and crews retrained for another job, Stags were not only living but  _ sentient _ . Even if they didn’t have as high a mind as the general population, they were still more than capable of higher thought. Even if they were at their limits for what they could do, they  _ wanted _ to work and do the public service that they and their ancestors had been loyally doing in the Kingdom for so long.

The problem was that they couldn’t just be kept as an inadequate transportation method, but it was also wrong to force them into retirement when they outlived their usefulness, especially with no  _ specific _ plan on how to replace them in place yet. (Which was beginning to become a political nightmare all its own.)

“Wyrm,” he heard a voice call out behind him. 

“I’ll only be a minute dear,” he softly replied over his shoulder before his attention returned to the papers on the table.

“Beloved, that’s the third time you’ve said that this evening; come to bed before you make us both stay up all night like a pair of immature younglings.”

The Pale King was tempted to comment about how he was sure neither would mind revisiting one  _ particular _ aspect of their youth; but they already had enough children. More importantly, he knew the longer he pondered, the longer he would keep his wife waiting. He was thankful she had been patient so far, but he knew she had her limits. While the nobles who put together this proposal were expecting an answer to be ready by tomorrow, the choice by now had come down to either appeasing a few nobles -- who were likely to criticise his decision no matter what he chose anyway -- or risk facing the ire of his wife. 

It took less than a second to decide; and he did  _ not _ intend to make the wrong one.

With a soft sigh, he tapped the papers together into a neat pile, and walked over to the bed. He pulled the covers over himself as he laid down next to his wife, his gaze still heavy laden and the stress of it all not letting up. Though he was lying down in his warm bed, covered in silk blankets and sheets, he thought his shell would crack from the pressure.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

The Pale King shut his eyes and let out a quiet breath. He felt some of his wife’s roots wrapping around the most tense parts of his body, gently massaging the chitten to loosen the muscles beneath. The breath turned into a full sigh, and he did his best to lie back and relax.

“Tomorrow I have to meet with members of the Millibelle Party and the Trade Federation; and try to get them to agree to a tax and interest rate reduction for the lower class and reduced prices for various goods respectively.”

“They won’t like that,” The White Lady stated, fully aware of how obvious it was. “Neither of them. What’s the occasion this time?”

“Normally I’d have wanted to wait until after we found a solution for the Stag Problem -- even a temporary one -- before adopting any new policies; but we’re deep in a recession right now, and it’s getting worse. That means jobs will be lost. The population continues to grow, and I’m concerned that said population will outgrow the economy soon. Some tax relief will give the working classes breathing room while we wait for the economy to recover and expand to a sustainable level. The government needs to be more conservitive with its spending anyway, this could be the catalyst needed to finally get them to cooperate satisfactorily.” As unlikely as that was. 

“What if any of the members refuse or resist?” There was no judging nor criticism in The White Lady’s voice as she asked.

“I’ll place fines on anyone who resists,” he stated bluntly. Hitting or threatening a greedy noble’s geo was always a method for effective coercing. “And those who outright refuse, or try to increase taxes to pay off the fines imposed on them, I’ll temporarily assign Hollow and Ghost to manage their positions in their place.”

She turned to her husband with a raised brow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“As heir to the Kingdom, Hollow needs the experience. As for Ghost, he’s energetic, and I’m happy he’s enthusiastic about thoroughly exploring the Kingdom. But he needs to learn how to slow down and enjoy life where he is. Develop some patience, and not just from training in the nail arts he’s become so fond of.”

“I was meaning if it was wise to further alienate the nobility. I’ve begun to hear rumors from among my constituents. They’ve begun to say you favor the peasantry over the educated and influential.”

“Criticizing a King for not needlessly exploiting or oppressing his citicines,” he flatly corrected. “The bugs who do most of the working, eating, living, and dying in this Kingdom. Yes, those are  _ exactly _ the bugs I should be crushing beneath my heel without a care. What a nightmare that I have no desire to do so and actually care about their wellbeing.”

The White Lady let out a sigh. She hadn’t intended to sound doubtful, and she hoped she didn’t, her husband was perfectly just and honorable in this case. She just wished he’d be more--

Her thoughts were interrupted by a firm knocking at the chamber door. The King and Queen’s attention jumped to it, and they knew who it was before he even spoke, judging by the smell.

“Enter Ogrim,” the King called.

The door opened, rather swiftly at that as the beetle charged in with Dryya on his tail. The female Great Knight seemed just as confused as the Monarchs currently were. 

“Y-your Majesties,” Ogrim stuttered as he swallowed a breath. It was obvious he had run hard to get here. The Pale King shook off the confusion, coming to the quick realization something was either very wrong or something extremely abnormal had occurred. A dosen possibilities of what happened cycled through his mind before he paused a half second later. 

“What is it, Great Knight?”

“There’s been… a Gray disturbance.”

~ ~ ~

Truth be told, it was getting rarer for the Pale King to leave the White Palace at all; as far as Hollow knew at least. He knew it was at least partly by choice, as the King rarely ever got a chance to be alone and recharge after a long day of trying to get the nobility to do what he asked. For him to ride the stagways was such a rare occurrence that both he himself and the stag which came to pick them up expressed obvious surprise at the fact. Hollow hadn’t been present when Ogrim had informed the King of a grey disturbance within the Museum of the Black Egg; grey being the code for something unknown, but required the King’s presence immediately. 

The order came to head to Dirtmouth, and with it the King and his Hollow Knight left the Hidden Station. No time was wasted upon arrival beneath the small town, the two quickly ascending up the small elevator to the surface. The town apparently was abuzz with commotion, with hushed whispers being traded between numerous residents. Some worried -- others excited. It was obvious to both that word of whatever had happened had reached here already. 

They headed out of the town and toward the small elevator that would take them into Hollownest’s Crossroads. At one time it had been an old well, but it had long since outlived its purpose and use as one. Some time ago, the citizens petitioned to have the well converted into an elevator for further ease of movement through the Kingdom. It had been agreed to, and was shortly there after put in place. (Only because the King insisted that it was so obviously useless, and it would be a bad thing if some elderly bug got hurt trying to descend down a chain that really was only designed to lift water buckets.) 

There was a dull thud as the elevator came to the bottom of the shaft. To the east, Mighty Hegemol stood before an archway with a mask engraved within it. He was gently instructing bugs to turn around, and that the Museum was closed for the day. 

When Hollow and the King approached, the Great Knight bowed his head and stepped aside to allow them entrance. He was obviously more concerned with keeping civilians away than battling a foe, so that factored out an immediate threat. A part of him worried that this might have something to do with the infection, but at the same time he doubted it. 

“Isma is inside the Museum, awaiting your arrival, your majesty.”

The King nodded in thanks, and approached the large structure. The building had been made from Void. It was a museum dedicated to the Pale King’s Void creations, including Wingmoulds and Kingsmoulds; describing their ongoing conflict with the infected. It was popular enough, though at this time of night there were bound to be only a few bugs present. That meant fewer bugs to deal with as he investigated what happened.

At the entrance to the building, the Pale King paused for a breath to steady himself, and walked inside. He could never have guessed what awaited him inside.


	3. Ghosts and Dream Nails

Chapter 3: Ghosts and Dream Nails

Ghost had never been the most astute when it came to politics. When he saw a problem he knew he could fix, his first instinct, strategy, and option of choice was simple. 

Fix the problem; and do so _immediately_. To delay in helping a bug for any reason -- especially an arbitrary reason like so often came up with the nobility -- just seemed, wrong. For example, when Elderbug had gotten depressed due to a lack of company, Ghost rarely got the chance from all his travels, the Sibling had personally traveled halfway across the Kingdom and back to deliver him a delicate flower growing from his mother’s Garden. Ghost would never forget the joy in Elderbug’s voice and on his face at the gift. 

It was a staggering contrast between the old and kindhearted bug and the arrogant, stuck up, never-happy occupants of the nobility’s court. When his father insisted that he should have some time and experience in dealing with them -- as he did for all the Siblings -- he hadn’t expected just how deep the pettiness of those within consistently was. 

Ghost had especially disliked it. 

While these rich bugs who _inherited_ their positions instead of working for it drank glasses of Life Blood Wine at every meal, a hard working family in Dirtmouth would be lucky to procure a single bottle of Life Blood Wine a year. 

He would know. He had spent more time there than any other Sibling. In fact, he considered it his second home; even though he had no house within the village itself. He was content to just sleep on a bench in the city center. It had taught him a strong sense of humility, reflected by the fact he rarely kept up his appearance to a level one would expect for a prince; though that might be more for practicality sake than anything. The cloak around his hybrid body was the same simple cloak he had had on for years now, tattered and worn with age and use in the field. If it wasn’t for the King’s children being well known, and a number of them visiting Dirtmouth, Ghost was sure few would have guessed that he was royalty at all. 

Of course, it’s not like the infected cared. 

Ghost jumped into the air just in time to avoid the swipe from the infected mantis. While in the air he jumped off the wall, flipping backwards over the mantis as he readied a nail art. Just as the mantis was about to leap into the air for another spiral attack, Ghost unleashed a Cyclone Slash, striking the infected numerous times within a second and sending its husk flying across the room. The infection’s orange acidic compound leaked out of the body. Ghost looked down at his nail and suddenly stopped moving, staring at the liquid that covered his blade as it sizzled. It was like his gaze was drawn to it. The Void his body contained made him and his Siblings for the most part resistant to the infection. It was the main reason why they all sometimes volunteered to fight when there was a shortage of Kingsmoulds. But there were limits to how long they could remain exposed to the infection before the temptation to give in became overwhelming.

Ghost shook his head to clear his mind of the consuming thoughts, and swung his nail to shake the infection off of it. Luckily, none of his Siblings had ever reached that point. They all knew (and had plenty of examples) of what would happen if they did give in. And they all collectively had enough self control to know their limits.

Ghost was thankful when a Wingmould landed on the body and began draining the infection out of it. A moment later it detached itself, hovering in place as it pulsed and fought to consume the infection. Ghost was once again enamored by the process, impressed at what his father had made. The pulsing eventually became weaker and less consistent as the Wingmould finally destroyed the infection as a white blood cell destroys bacteria. 

Ghost would have let out a sigh if he had a mouth to do so.

It was time for him to get out of here. His limit had been reached. He turned to head for the Stag Station, taking a moment to consider where he should--

**_Ghost._ **

He paused, sensing Hollow contacting him through their mutual connection through the Void. He looked to the east, in the direction where he was hailing from. He felt a sense of urgency from his brother.

**_Hollow?_ **

**_Grey Disturbance. Black Egg Museum. Father beckons you. There with Him now. Please come. Urgent._ **

Ghost immediately began sprinting for the Stagway. 

~ ~ ~

The Pale King’s eyes widened in surprise. In the center of the Museum layed a bug, a ragged and torn red cloak covering most of her body. He could see that her neck and legs were black, while the pheromones she gave off indicated that she was a female. A pair of long curved horns stood atop her mask. In fact, she actually reminded him of one of his own Void Children. 

Something the Museum he currently stood in referenced only in passing was the nature of the Pale King’s children. Even factoring in the odd arrangement of the parents, their children were far from ordinary. Monomon the Teacher had made the connection that the King had experimented directly with Void for so many years, that his body had become -- if it was the best word -- _tainted_ with the substance. Everything from his muscles and organs; the parts with his softer flesh all had trace amounts of Void fused into them. When his and The White Lady’s eggs had been laid, no one in the Kingdom should have been surprised that the eggs came out black. Monomon would later further conclude that an excess amount of the Void in the Pale King’s system had fused into the embryos as a consequence. When the eggs finally hatched, they had many of the same properties as the Kingsmoulds; black bodies, no mouth, completely mute, and those iconic unblinking eyes being among their features. However despite all of this, they all -- and that meant _all_ \-- had distinctive personalities. They all had thought. They all had will. They all had emotions. 

They all _felt._

Truth be told, it wasn’t all bad. Internally, they were all able to communicate among one another through their connection with the Void; a method that resembled telepathy. Plus, they were able to hold an incredible number of things within their bodies. (To the point of being comical.) Externally however, due to their limited ability to perform sign language, and the even more limited spread of knowledge through the Kingdom on said topic, they were instead given tablets with single words or common phrases that could be pulled out and read in rapid succession. 

With the number of the Pale King’s children, and the sheer number of words needed to be copied, it had lead to the creation of Hollownest’s first prototype printing press. They now used cards that were printed on paper attached to appropriately sized pieces of wyrmwood. Whenever a new word was needed, the Void Children -- more commonly known as Siblings -- would write it down quickly, use it in the field, and then send it back to the press to be printed so all Siblings had a copy. 

All that taken into account, and similarities aside, _she_ was obviously not a Sibling. Sibling pheromones were distinctive, but limited, faint. Hers’ were anything but.

It only took a moment before he recognized what they reminded him of. A Weaver. She had to be some kind of spider then. His brow furrowed. What was a spider doing all the way up here? How did she get here? 

There was something powerful within her that he could sense, but... couldn’t quite place yet. But he also felt something else he could place. 

Essence. 

The substance only accessible through the dream realm, or something connected to it. 

The turmoil of caution, curiosity and concern bubbled in The King’s chest for a moment, not about the spider directly, but by what everything he could feel implied. He immediately banished the feeling as a bug with a blue band on her upper limb approached the spider. The King stepped forward as she kneeled beside the spider, and began to do a checkup on her.

“My King,” she acknowledged, not looking up from her work. 

“How is she?” he asked, secretly glad she wasn’t pausing over something as trivial as standing or saluting when there was a patient in front of her.

“She’s alive. Has a strong pulse,” she noted, withdrawing a blunt claw from one of the spider’s joints. “Breathing seems to be normal. Can’t find any bleeding, or a cracked shell. By what I can tell she seems to just be asleep, but she’s out like a candle.” 

“Is she fit to be moved?” the Pale King asked, hoping to find a less conspicuous place, both so that she could recover in a place better than the floor of a museum, and so that they could keep a close eye on her.

“Yes. I recommend it actually,” the nurse replied, pausing for just a moment to acknowledge that the King was in front of her and kneeling beside her patient. “I-I also recommend we call for a response team with a stretcher to transport her to Life Blood Hospital.”

The King nodded, “Do what you have to...”

He paused, his attention being drawn to an item the spider had in her grasp. With narrowed eyes, he gently pried the object out of her hand. If he wasn’t the King, might have dropped it in surprise. Dreams were neither his realm nor specialty, but he could feel the Essence that was radiating off of the object nevertheless. He turned to the Sibling beside him and paused to figure out what he should say next. 

“Hollow, contact Mothwing and tell her to find Seer. We’ll probably have questions for her -- about this.”

Hollow nodded. Mothwing had been Hollownest’s ambassador to the Moth Tribe for years now. It was nigh-impossible for anyone else (besides a Sibling) to make it to Hollownest’s Crown; and even then Mothwing had been sure to bring an escort. Most of Crystal Peak had been closed after it was discovered that the crystals were amplifying the infection’s powers, and it was still very potent throughout.

“Next, contact Ghost and tell him to come here. He volunteered for duty in Greenpath, and he’s probably still there right now.”

That also made sense. Ghost had been one of the only other siblings to make the trek to Hollownest’s Crown, and the only one to make it back alone without escort. He had stayed there for a time, and had even made friends with some of the moths living there. Seer herself had taught him a few things about Essence and Dreams, so he might be able to tell them something Seer couldn’t since she couldn’t make direct contact with the item or spider. 

~ ~ ~

**{It looks like} {a dream nail} [Stop.]**

The Pale King blinked at Ghost’s analysis as the Sibling examined it in his hand. He didn’t wait for The King to ask what that meant.

**{It has} {two} {notable purposes} [Stop.] {First} {can be used to} {read} {the} {minds} {of those} {awake} [Stop.] {Second} {can be used to} {mentally} {enter the} {dreams} {of those} {asleep} [Stop.] {Same for} {if they are} {dead} {and there is anything of} {a dream} {left} [Stop.]**

An eyebrow was raised. “You mean, you can manifest yourself within someone else’s dream?”

**{Most bugs} {yes} [Stop.]**

He brought a claw to his chin in thought. 

“Would it hurt them in any way to do so?”

Ghost shook his head.

**{Only if} {you} {attack them} {or} {kill them} {while they} {are asleep} [Stop.] {Entering their} {dreams alone} {will not hurt them} [Stop.]**

“What happens if the one with the Dream Nail is hurt, or dies, within the dream?” 

Ghost shrugged.

**{I don’t know} {never asked} {sorry} [Stop.]**

The king then glanced at the spider (still asleep) being carried off on a stretcher by more bugs with a blue band. 

“Could you use it to enter her dream?” he asked. Ghost paused, hesitantly glancing between his father and the spider.

**{Probably.} {Why do you ask?} [Stop.]**

“Just in case she doesn't wake up soon,” he said as he turned to follow the nurses out. “We need to know who she is, how she got here, and why she’s here. And if she’s the only one who can answer that, we’ll have to ask her personally.”

**{In case} {she’s a} {threat} {?} [Stop.]**

“In case she represents a threat we haven’t met yet.”

The King glanced down at the Dream Nail in Ghost’s hand again as the Sibling walked alongside him. The idea of reading someone’s mind, or even entering someone’s dream, started to get him thinking. If it could do all of that... 

“Could we, somehow, enter the mind of the infected?”


	4. Sleeping Spider Investigations, Part 1

Sleeping Spider Investigations, Part 1

Professor Quirrel’s eyes followed the direction of the falling rain, watching it trickle off walls and roofs before splashing on the streets below. The sound of the rain was drowned out by the whirring of gears and chains as the elevator rose above the city. Its destination: the top floor of Lifeblood Hospital. Monomon’s assistant had heard about this place, and what it used to be. Originally, the primary function of all but the lower floors of the building had been reserved as a pleasure house. It still held that role, as the pair of ticketed bugs next to him on their eventual way to a concert could attest to, but had also been largely repurposed as a public hospital. 

He was far more of a researcher than a politician, as the bag of instruments in his hand could attest, but that lesser aspect of his career had come in great handy in maintaining the budget Monomon, him, and all the other researchers needed to properly maintain their experiments. According to what he could gather, there had been a lot of political objection to the building’s partial conversion. When it was discovered that a large amount of the building was going to be converted for public use, the Pleasure House Company (which also happened to had been bought out by the Trade Federation) had at the time a practical monopoly on the hot springs market, and it was getting insanely rich off of it. When the plan was proposed, they had outright refused, claiming they were already enough of a hospital without the King’s interference.

The Pale King had countered by publicly questioning the morality of a company that had access to a supply of water that was naturally sustained, could heal almost any known physical wound or injury -- short of death -- and charged ludicrous amounts of geo for treatment. Amounts that could bankrupt an entire family just to keep one of their loved ones alive. They ran it the way they did, not to reasonably make an honest living by doing good and charging fairly for it, but entirely to make as much profit as possible; regardless of the negative cultural and societal impact it would have.

Quirrel’s stagway of thought was interrupted when the elevator stopped at the top floor with a clang. The ticketed couple turned to follow a sign marked ‘Theater Entrance A’ as he followed a sign marked ‘Low Risk Rooms 1-50.’ The rooms looked to be cozy enough, most of the patients on this floor were likely just recovering from cracked shells or damaged masks anyway. The more striking fact was the number of guards positioned in the hallway. 

He glanced down at the note in his hand; it wasn’t necessary. He knew what was on it, had committed it to memory at a glance, but he double checked anyway to appear busy to hopefully avoid any strange looks.

“Room 16,” he said as he walked up to a room with the curtains drawn and the door closed. He knocked on the door, and waited until someone opened a slit he hadn’t seen on any of the others, followed by the sound of multiple locks being undone when he stated who he was.

 _They’re really taking this bug seriously._ He thought, curiosity as to what the all fuss was about radiating off of him as he stepped inside. 

He was surprised when he saw the bug lying on the hospital bed, a pair of long horns stretching above her mask. She wore a blue gown that had been soaked in lifeblood, the standard one-size-fit-all common wear for Lifeblood Hospital patients that was reported to help the healing process. She seemed quite obviously asleep.

“Professor Quirrel.”

The voice of the Pale King drew his attention. He gave a short, but respectful bow.

“My King, you summoned me?”

With a nod, the King took a tablet out of a nurse’s hand and gave it to the Professor. “I’d like you to look this over, and examine the… patient,” he said, not fully sure what he should call her yet. “Tell me what you make of her.”

Quirrel calmly flipped through the documents after setting his case down, examining each as well as he could. Science and medical research shared a good amount of terminology and language, so a lot of it held familiarity for the Professor; enough so that he could understand that -- as far as the hospital could tell -- she was fine physically speaking, besides some moderate malnourishment, and the fact that she was still asleep. 

He hummed and set the tablet aside on a cart as he opened his case with a click. It folded out a small number of stacked drawers and storage baskets, loosely filled with various measuring and examination equipment. He sorted through much of it without much thought, settling on picking up a pair of spectacles with multiple magnification levels. 

He wasn’t likely to get everything while she was unconscious, but he might be able to use some amount of deductive reasoning to understand where she came from. His examination began with her limbs, made of a black jointed exoskeleton. They were thin, it being obvious that she wasn’t near her full strength. She was covered in small nicks, scratches, and in a few places what looked almost like faded burn marks. Not from a flame, but what almost seemed to be from a potent acid. Not the acid usually native to the Fungal Wastes -- burn marks from unsuspecting passersby were usually either very small pin pricks from being too close to bubbles, or covering a large part of the body from accidentally falling in. It was a hot but thin acid.

These were not caused by a thin acid. They were from something else. It looked like whatever caused these was both acidic enough to rival or even surpass the boiling acid, but also held a surface tension to rival Lifeblood. He had never seen this before, and it both excited him, and gave him great concern. What kind of an acid worked like this? And judging by the various patches over different parts of her body, why was she in a position to be repeatedly exposed to it?

“My King,” he looked over to the patiently waiting Wrym, “could you kindly examine this burn mark? I can’t determine what kind of-”

“It’s from an infected.”

Quirrel’s mind did a momentary hiccup.

“An infected?” it dawned on him as the words left his mouth.

“Yes,” the King nodded grimly. He had only noticed it himself the moment Quirrel pointed it out, but he had seen that kind of burn on a bug’s shell enough times to recognize what it was. 

Upon the realization, a thousand questions raced through Quirrel’s mind, but he shook them out for now. They could wait. He should finish his examination first.

Working his way down her upper limb, he came to her fingers and noted their tips. They had small indentations, and were far more easily recognizable. 

“Well, she’s definitely a Weaver,” he noted by the spinnerets, “but unlike one I’ve ever seen.” 

He set her limb back down and removed his spectacles. “I’m tempted to take a blood test,” he said, almost asking for permission.

The King considered it for a moment. For any normal bug, any normal citizen, he’d have immediately said no, citing ethical concerns. But this was biologically a Weaver, someone from Herra’s domain. For almost any other bug he would have immediately notified the Kingdom they came from to come and help take care of them. But in the case of Deep Nest…

...well, it was _Deep Nest._

There was no fact more of an understatement than ‘they remained Hollownest’s strongest physical threat’, discounting the infected -- and now someone who probably hailed from that place had learned how to use the Dream Realm to suddenly appear out of thin air, though admittedly with consequences. 

To top it all off, he had no answers to why or exactly how this had all happened. He doubted many would question him if he allowed it; heck, they probably wouldn’t question it too much if he just ordered her dissection and was done with it.

But at the same time… maybe it was because she vaguely resembled some cross between his children and perhaps a child of the Beast, but she didn’t strike him as some simple and mindless bug. There was something -- something that made him want to...

He shook his head. 

“No. No blood test, not yet.”

~ ~ ~

Hornet looked up, and beheld with her large eyes the shine of the White Palace. She was completely transfixed on the glow of the royal building. The splendor was magnified greatly by the fact it was just so… _different_ from Deep Nest. She had never seen anything so dazzling in her life! The only thing that she could have compared it to was the hot spring near the edge of her mother’s kingdom. This beat it in nearly every respect though; put it to shame!

So transfixed was she, she almost didn’t hear a strong familiar voice.

“Hornet.”

Her eyes snapped to her mother’s. Herra was on her left, trying to tug her forward with a serious yet, different expression on her face. 

“Sorry mother,” she heard herself say. 

“Come child, we shouldn’t [x2lptgrf6p] _too_ much of ‘his majesty’s’ time.” 

Her mother always referred to her father in that tone. In fact, he was the only one she did so to. She had never understood why. Sure her father wasn’t the nicest bug she knew, not like Midwife, but he wasn’t all bad! He did visit her after all… sometimes. 

Her grassroots justifications were interrupted by the sound of armor clinking as tall bugs clad in armor (almost as shiny as the palace!) stepped aside to allow them passage. The pair of spiders did so wordlessly. For a brief moment as they walked, she thought she heard the hushed [kqwrhzsp] of those around the two. It was strange, in Deepnest she was used to hundreds of crawling noises and the clicks of whispers surrounding her; yet here a sense of unease settled on her, and it took every ounce of self control she had to not try and cling to her mother for protection like a hatchling. 

Herra must have sensed her daughter's extremely subtle quaking anyway, because she turned to her daughter and [xosj9zzghwi84fk1oe], enough to stop her shaking. That made Hornet’s head tilt. Had she caught that right?

With that thought, something began to uncoil itself in her mind. When Hornet looked out again, all the whispering bugs seemed to wear the same white robes, their faces dissatisfied [4jdkw9gr].

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Time seemed to freeze. Their faces weren't any clearer. They weren't _getting_ any clearer. It was as if they were portraits drawn with ink that had smeared enough to cloud not just the finer, but the _sum total_ of the details making them up. 

She turned her head some more, glancing around the room. Something about the hallway to the right was off; very off in a way she couldn’t quite put. Ignoring everything else, she broke free of her mother’s grasp, and charged toward that hallway. The thought of making her mother mad or even her father mad not even entering her mind. Normally, this would have -- _should_ have been considered wrong; but not to her. Not now. Not when there was suddenly nothing about this situation that seemed to be right. The proportions of the world alone seemed wrong. Everything was too big -- too vague. 

It was like she was in a nightmare that was slowly becoming lucid.

The details around the corner began to increase the sensation. Not only was no _one_ there, there was _nothing_ there. The rooms and halls were faded and blurry. Past a certain point, they were just gone. Thinning out in to an empty white void. It wasn't bright, bright would imply light, and light substance. There wasn’t any of that; there was none of _anything_ . It was like this part of reality just, _didn't exist_. 

What was uncoiling in her mind suddenly shot open when she blinked. Impossibly, she was back at her mother’s side; only this time her mother was grasping her [zx29oIjwuB], _dragging_ her unhappily toward the [kkildowf93] where she knew her father waited.

She shook her head when the door opened and they entered. She could hear the voice of the Pale King, but it sounded _wrong._ There were no intelligible words, just a loosely connected string of syllables that vaguely resembled sounds that the Wyrm might have made at one point long ago. 

She saw a door behind him, leading into something she would be (or had been?) told to never see. 

_There was something waiting for her back there._

It wasn’t a conscious thought, but she still knew it was _right._ Without warning she broke free of her mother’s constraints _(--for the second time that day--)_ and charged beneath the thing that resembled a table. Resembled. Yes. They weren’t real. They just resembled the dead Wrym that was her father and the dead Dreamer that was her mother. They were dead.

And she was _dreaming._

When that realization hit her, it was like her mind stopped pretending that any of it was real. Because she landed in the space under the table. _Landed._ The place she was now had ceilings so high it almost resembled King’s Pass. She stood up. Somehow she was and yet was not surprised at the sight. At the far end of whatever chamber she was in was a glowing white light. Somehow like before she knew that’s where she needed to go, that’s where that place was. She took a single step toward it, and then dashed when things that resembled twisted and jagged claws reached out of the darkness and tried to grab her. One looked like her father’s hand, another like the infected carcass of the Hollow Knight’s remaining limb, the third seemed to be made of the countless thousands of broken masks at the bottom of the Abyss. She had only seen the last of these once, and never stopped regretting the journey down.

On that note, while she didn’t have her needle, she had her mind, her memories, her experiences; all had returned in full. She expertly dodged the hideous amalgamations, a near lifetime of avoiding infectious puss and clawed attacks being quickly called back to service. 

She didn’t know what this was, or why this was happening, she just knew there was something waiting for her past that door. But the situation was getting worse and worse. As if the monstrosities weren’t enough, the very proportions of the room were starting to _change._

At each swipe the claws seemed to grow bigger, and the aggregate of the distance between her the exit seemed to fall off the cliff as the seconds ticked by. She couldn’t tell whether she was getting smaller or everything else was getting bigger. Maybe both. Maybe neither. It didn’t matter; she had to somehow speed up or she’d be trapped here. 

When the claw made of masks came down, she realized that parts of it were close to falling right off the body. A thought entered her mind -- she waited until that claw came down again before she put her fingertips together and withdrew lines of weaversilk. Right as it impacted, she raised her arm; and with the flip of her wrist the thin strands cut into a portion of the thing’s index claw. She was rewarded with a prize of large splintered shards that covered the ground in front of her.

Not stopping her run, she picked up one of the shards and laced a line of silk around the thicker end of it. It was beyond understatement to call it crude. Neither straight nor balanced, her throws would be staggeringly inaccurate, and she couldn’t even guarantee that it would last a dozen throws; but it just might be enough to get her to the exit. Using all the strength she could convoke, she launched her improvised needle toward the ceiling. A second later, she was met with a satisfying clash as the needle perforated the material above. With a yank she launched herself airborne and pulled herself forward. 

A claw swiped below her and just barely missed. When she felt the swing beginning to run out of energy, she touched the ground, whipped her crude needle out of the ceiling, and bolted. 

The process was repeated again and again, each time the claw came it was that much harder to dodge. When she was nearly at the end, she hurled the crude needle too far. Without enough momentum, it couldn’t hope to stick. She almost didn’t have enough time to stop herself from falling on her face; and she certainly did not have enough time to avoid the next hand that came down on top of her. It gripped her hard, and she cried out in pain as she was nearly crushed. With a pained grunt, she just managed to pull her crude nail back into her grasp before she stuck it between the plates of the hand’s exoskeleton. There was a roar high above in pain, and its grip loosened just enough for her to escape its boney grasp. 

She threw the shard again, and this time it struck home. She pulled on it with everything she had, and flew out of the darkness, back into the light...

...and found herself on the other side of the table. 

She reached the door before she could question it, and before anything could stop her. She nearly broke down the door upon impact; she didn't feel a thing. There was something on the ground, something in front of her. It was quivering, shaking, twitching. Staccatoed sounds of pain, despair, or confusion escaped the thing. Hornet couldn't tell which was louder, which aspect was stronger. Its cloak was ragged, its mask cracked. She approached the thing, and suddenly it was in focus. Her eyes shot open in horror.

It was _her_. 

Somehow, another one of herself was lying on the ground in front of her. What trick was her mind playing on her now?! She ran at it, fully intending to grab it and smash it back into the ground to shatter it. She only got as far as grabbing the thing's shoulder when it spun to look at her. For an impossibly brief moment, she locked eyes with herself; she couldn't tell who stared harder.

The world around her exploded.


	5. Yesterday and Forever ago

Chapter 5: Yesterday and Forever ago.

The Pale King stood quietly nearby the window as Professor Quirrel continued with his examination. Mostly it was just to keep himself from getting in the Professor’s way, though it did also allow him the chance to gaze out at the city below.

It was rare for him to be here -- here in the city, where the rain never stopped falling. The last few times he had been here in person had overwhelmingly been for less than stellar reasons. He recounted the time he’d issued the order to have the Soul Sanctum raided, and the monstrous experiments undertaken there shut down permanently.

He barely had to dig into the recesses of his memory to remember the ghastly sight of what had only been referred to as “Follies” and “Mistakes” by the culprits, who apparently weren't satisfied by the measures the King taken against the infection.

There were even Shamans that had been tied down and connected to some harvesting system designed to drain the vast amount of soul Shamans processed and produced. _Everyone_ was horrified. By what Luren the Watcher could put together, the culprits of the atrocities had been trying to formulate some kind of method for preventing themselves from succumbing to the infection using vast quantities of Soul.

The method was purely selfish, and incalculably evil. Nothing could excuse what had taken place. It would be too far to say that the Pale King _enjoyed_ their executions, but he did find a great deal of satisfaction in the total destruction of such great evil; and it _had_ been total.

He _personally_ saw to that.

There were those who had claimed ignorance, or that they had ‘just been following orders’ by those above them, but those excuses only made the King angrier. It was impossible to both have reaped the benefits of so much death, and have not even a suspicion as to where all that Soul was coming from. They could have walked away, just not get involved any further, but no one did. There was also the fact that if you were given an order that you knew was morally wrong, you had a moral _obligation_ to disobey it. And by what could be found, it seemed that no one did.

When everything was taken care of, all justice served, the worst and deepest sections of the Sanctum was reorganized as a museum and monument to those who died, while the rest was converted for a more justified and noble purpose.

And it all had to do with a certain child with three horns atop its head. 

Kin had always been a friendly child, kind to whomever he met. He had also been the only other one whose sense of adventure could compare to Ghost’s. They’d traveled together more than once, and gotten into their fair share of mischief. As light hearted as it usually was, it had almost ended in disaster once. 

In some forgotten cave hidden deep within Kingdom’s Edge layed a repose filled with Lifeblood butterflies that had belonged to an elderly bug named Joni. In her old age she had sought a place to be able to rest, and tragic as it seemed, die in peace. The Pale King had bittersweetly ceded that location to her to fulfill her final wish.

Ghost and Kin had arrived at her repose, not knowing what it was. The latter of the two had always had a bit of a larger head proportionately than most of his Siblings, with it being noticeably heavier on one side thanks to his third horn. This had made his sense of balance just slightly off in one direction he constantly had to correct for.

Both Siblings vaguely understood that there were dangers involved with exploring, and that Kin’s balancing problem was a potential cause for alarm. Despite this, Kin had refused to allow his problem to hold him back, and he often managed to keep up with Ghost on his adventures. Ghost, despite technically being a younger Sibling, had enthusiastically welcomed Kin to join him, knowing that Kin didn’t want to let his disability keep him from doing the things he loved.

Until of course, it all went horribly wrong.

Kin had nearly split his head open on two separate occasions. Both times he had recovered without incident, but it should have been a splash of cold water on a daydreaming pair of Siblings, especially since they both happened because Kin had lost his balance at the edges of cliffs and had been unable to reorient himself before he hit the ground, even with the aid of his pair of wings that all Siblings possessed.

The first time it had happened he had simply fallen off a table when he was not much more than a hatchling. The second time it happened he had slipped through the railing of a stairway within the White Palace. The third time…

Well, both him and Ghost hadn’t been looking where they were going, and had fallen down the wide open chamber adjacent to Joni’s Repose. Ghost managed to land upright, but Kin~ Ghost had reported that the back of Kin’s mask had caved in upon impact. There was nothing anyone could have done.

Except for Joni herself. 

The bestowment of her blessing, one of the final acts of her life, kept Kin alive, though only barely within an unconscious state. She then gave advice to Ghost and Hollow -- when the latter showed up after Ghost’s panicked summons and Kin’s hollow cries of agony -- to seek out and collect as many Lifeseeds as they could get their hands on. Once they had enough, he would recover.

Lifeseeds were an incredibly rare commodity, and it had taken months to gather enough. The Lifeseeds had eagerly jumped into his head until it was so comically overflowing that most would have said that all the Kingdom’s Lifeseeds wouldn’t be enough to bring him back.

That was, of course, before the last Lifeseed was added, and opened wide a pair of eyes that had never shut.

There was a lot of celebration that day. It remained one of the few favorites of the Pale King’s, the Pale Lady’s, and the Siblings’ collectively. It was during the ball marking the celebration that Kin felt something calling out to him from deep down below. An expedition by Ghost into the Abyss led to the discovery of a door only Kin was able to access; and from there the discovery of the Lifeblood Core.

The Core concluded his alteration into a new unique creature, giving him the equally new ability to both actively and passively produce vast quantities of Lifeblood himself; more than quadrupling the Kingdom’s entire yearly supply and production.

For the first time in Hollownest’s history, Lifeblood was suddenly cheap enough for the common consumer. It went from an extremely rare luxury to becoming standard issue for all first aid kits Kingdom-wide in the form of syringes. It had even become cheap enough for one Professor Quirrel to discover that it could be processed into a liquid form that was both extremely healthy, and tasted better than any other drink known in the Kingdom. 

Lifeblood Wine.

And the greatest honor fell back to the newly christened ‘Lifeblood Sibling’ when the name of Lifeblood Hospital was unveiled to the public, and an entire section of the Sanctum was dedicated purely to him. Both for the easy production of Lifeblood, and easy assistance of testing new ways the substance could be used for the benefit of the Kingdom. 

Kin happily agreed. His close run-in with death had changed his attitude toward life, and thought it good to do something calmer than continually adventuring with Ghost. His days of adventuring were over, but he made sure that Ghost didn’t hesitate to continue.

The Lifeblood Sibling assured him that he held no ill will toward his brother, and that he didn’t blame him in the slightest for what happened. In fact, he thanked him dearly, as it was him who found Joni in his attempt to get help. He would have died without her blessing, and went to great lengths to ensure Ghost knew that. 

In the end, everything had turned out ok. 

In the end -- the Pale King chuckled at the phrase as he thought back on those weeks. In one of those odd twists time so often spun in this life, those weeks simultaneously felt like yesterday, and forever ago.

Now, yesterday and forever ago, here he was, in the hospital named after his son, looking after a creature that resembled a cross between a Sibling and a Wever, somehow arrived via the Dream realm, and was lying unconscious while the Professor examined her.

So he really shouldn’t have been surprised when there was a knock on the door to Room 16. The Pale King noted that when the guard opened the slit and peered out, almost immediately after he recoiled in surprise. The guard made a noise, a question on his tongue, then shut it when he looked down.

“What business do you have here?” the guard asked, still notably looking down through the slit. An odd moment of silence passed, before the guard apparently replied with “very well” to an also apparently non-verbal answer from the occupant beyond the door. The Pale King took a guess as to who it was.

He ended up being partly right. Still though, he was shocked when the odd thricesome of characters entered the room.

A pair of Siblings, one of which he hadn’t seen in a long time, accompanied by an honest-to-God _moth._

“Greeting your majesty!” the moth hummed happily. “I don’t think we’ve met yet in person.”

“No,” the Pale King managed to say. “No, I don’t believe we have. Might I assume your name is Seer?”

~ ~ ~

Hornet was starting to get really tired of waking up only to find out that she was actually still dreaming. 

This time when she opened her eyes, she found herself back in that strange realm with the floating islands and symbols. She checked her body once over, took count of the items in her possession; everything seemed in place, from her needle, to even Ghost's pure nail she had held onto when she somehow arrived at... wherever this was.

There was at least some amount of relief at the sight of the refined weapon. It was far too short for _her_ to use effectively as a main weapon, perhaps a throwing nail or a kind of repurposed straight pin would be better suited. Still, that was assuming she ever _would_ use it as a weapon herself. The thing belonged in a museum, not a battlefield. Something to mark the triumph of one of the few good things to come out of the madness she had lived through -- that she had been _hatched_ from. 

_"Yet you do not consider yourself among the good."_

Her head snapped up to the glowing moth hovering a distance away.

_“Do you really consider yourself nothing more than the bastard child of a mad king?”_

“Silence,” Hornet immediately snapped. “You apparently can see into my mind and yet understand so little of me. Why impose upon me some twisted dream within a dream?”

_“It was you who ‘imposed’ that dream as you say, not I.”_

The moth quickly caught onto the spider’s anger and confusion.

 _“There was a part of yourself who wanted to die,"_ came the explanation. _"Yes, I know you, sorrow filled spider; and I know how much you didn’t want to face it.”_

A strange mix of desiring to be angry and the ugly face of a truth she never wanted to confront hit her all at once.

_"In this place, such things take on physical form. You either refuse to acknowledge it, as you could have continued to do so, or confront the painful reality. You chose to confront that part of you that wanted to die, and it, true to form, tried to stop you.”_

Hornet… didn’t know what to feel.

She didn’t dare count how many years she had refused to allow herself to just… _feel._ Her pain, her desires, even what she considered to be ethical for those countless years, all of it she had shoved aside to fulfill her duty. 

_What duty? To a dead Kingdom?_ She cut the idea off; cut off all the problems, and just as quickly as the latter two cut off the fact that there were problems at all.

 _“I see…”_ the moth said, Hornet somehow hearing sadness. _“I won’t offer you advice then, lest you refuse all help because of it. I’ll only say this: now that you are where you are now… well, perhaps it’s best I not even say that. I wish you a safe journey, sorrow filled spider. Though now greatly weakened, that weapon from the one before you will always be strong enough to return you to the waking realm. I invite you to use it.”_

With that, the moth faded and disappeared. Still not feeling anything, Hornet reached into her cloak and withdrew the hilt, glowing once again. She pondered for a moment if it really would return her to the waking realm, considering the last time she attempted that very feat. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing object. Assuming that moth’s wild hypothesis had any truth whatsoever, there would be nothing harder for her to face than the side of herself that wanted her to die. 

_Which never existed, by the way._

She cut off all trails to those thoughts again, and gripped the hilt hard in her hand. She closed her eyes and focused on cutting through the border between herself and the waking realm, ignoring the irony. 

There was a flash, and a sorrow filled spider exited the Dream Realm.


	6. Brandings, and Awakenings

Chapter 6: Brandings and Awakenings

Mothwing wasn't a strong fighter. She didn't have any special attacks or spells her other Siblings had. Really, she preferred to avoid it whenever possible. It was much more customary for her to use her size and robust dash abilities to slip through spaces she couldn’t be followed than attack in open combat; whether that was crowded tunnels infested with pools of boiling acid, or caves lined with crystals that were sharper than straight pins. All the Siblings knew these things. 

And so did a portion of the Court. 

The SIblings were understanding, after all she was the youngest of them all. It was only natural that one of them should have a more pacifist nature for one reason or another. None within her family judged her.

The same could not be said about the Court.

The Court was almost perpetually guilty of countless awful double standards, putting their focus on trying to do everything they could to dig up dirt on the King and his family to try and limit his power. For decades they had been falsely preaching nonsense about how there were not enough measures being taken to combat the infection, that the King should send in the regular guard (which would lead to all their deaths) or manufacture more Kingsmolds and Wingmolds (the process in creating one took time, energy, and soul in amounts few could hope to gather in a _decade_ .) Then they claimed that the King allowing his own _children_ to fight against the infected was a display of incompetence and callousness. “After all,” they told the press, “if the King was willing to send his own children to fight the infected, what’s to stop him from sending _your_ children to die!” 

The whole fiasco turned into a scandal, the press claiming that his children going off to battle was his way of claiming, “No cost too great!” That he was willing to order the deaths of anyone if it meant keeping himself on the throne.

Nothing could be further than the truth. 

The King had never _once_ ordered his children to the front lines. _They_ had _volunteered_ . In fact, he had for a time _forbidden_ them from the fighting. It was only when the infected threatened to break through the perimeter and into the Crossroads that he finally allowed it in _limited_ amounts. 

And it was after all of this, all the lies, all the deception, all the selfish attempts to deface a good bug with the intention to make themselves look better than they were, that a conversation about Mothwing’s reluctance to want to fight between the King and Queen was illegally overheard by someone claiming to be a journalist. 

That same ‘journalist’ then managed to get an interview with Mothwing, in an attempt to get her to say something bad about the King she could use. Her hope was to get bugs to read her paper by using the headline, “Daughter of Pale King Denounces her Father’s (whatever decision he made here)!” There was a lot of money to be made there, with the rabble likely willing to just accept her entry because of how utterly shocking it was to the point that, “there’s no way something that is actually quite ridiculous when you look underneath the surface and have the facts could possibly be false!”

When the ‘journalist’ didn’t get what she wanted out of Mothwing, who _(gasp)_ actually told the _unadulterated truth_ _,_ and considering her ideals lined up nicely with those of the hypocrites in the Court, they conspired to publicly brand Mothwing a **coward.**

The article they used to do so was picked up, primarily by those who didn’t know better, like free Lifeblood Wine. A rival newspaper with opposite ideals published the unedited version of the interview which clearly showed that it was the journalist who was in the wrong; but it was too late. 

The hatred had spread. The damage was done.

The King in an attempt to show mercy to his daughter, sent her as far away from the capital -- and the bugs who bought into the lies -- as possible; if nothing else than to remove her directly from all of the hatred. 

Being the ambassador to the Moth Tribe on Hollownest’s Crown seemed the perfect job for her at the time. To Mothwing, in comparison to Hollownest, the tribe seemed the embodiment of difference in culture, but more than made up for any of it in the kindness they showed. 

What she found to be the most profound of their culture was the reforms it had been going through. 

The Radiance had been their god for so long. In fact, it was the earliest thing recorded in their culture. They thought she was benevolent, kind; the watcher of dreams. 

Then the infection came.

At more than one point, the Pale King could have tried to call himself a god; but had refused it every time. He knew nothing _truly_ good had ever come from someone declaring themself a god. He was neither that stupid nor vainglorious to accept the position. 

_Though he would acknowledge that the temptation was very real._

His decision to allow freedom of religion throughout his domain was partly to help this. And also one of the reasons he kept all the nobles around. He had a feeling that continuous criticism instead of undying praise would keep himself grounded. Of course, that didn’t stop _other_ creatures from seeing themselves as gods and relishing the praise of those who worshiped them; and on the flip side, it also absolved him of all blame for the infection.

How that came about was understandably a matter all its own. Through a mixture of old traditionalists dying out from old age, and the evangelism of other religions -- some noble, some not -- The Radiance found herself with diminished followers, until all she had left was that one tribe. The tribe who perceived themselves to be her people. Despite everything, most bugs would think that a tribe of genuine dedicated followers should have been enough. 

To her, _it wasn’t._

She grew jealous of the King who declined the title of a god, yet was still somehow loved more minutely than her. Years went by, decades, centuries; nothing was changing. 

So she declared war. 

She tried to infect and take over the minds and dreams of those who didn’t worship her. 

The moth tribe, the ones who would have stayed with her till the end of time, became horrified. They tried to talk to her -- ask her to back down before countless bodies would begin to pile up, but The Radiance ignored their pleas. 

They then in turn renounced her.

The statue of The Radiance that once stood proudly over Hollownest’s Crown was shoved off the edge and smashed out of sight. The tribe then openly declared that they would dedicate the rest of their lives to protecting the dreams of those within Hollownest.

Their technique brilliantly used The Radiance’s own power against her, their ability to protect the Kingdom’s dreams correlating directly with how much power she had. A perfect stalemate, and in this case one who’s scales overwhelmingly benefited Hollownest.

Despite this, they couldn’t protect _everyone_.

Some took in the infection _deliberately,_ like the Traitor Lord and his followers. 

Then there were those living in Green Path who believed that _Unn_ would protect them, but in the realm of dreams she was as powerless as the Pale King, and they all succumbed. Lesser bugs with incredibly weaker or basic minds also found themselves outside of the tribe’s protection; with the exception of the Wevers and those closely associated with The Beast within Deepnest, and the Hivelings within the Hive. Their monarchs allowed and accepted the protection granted to them, and their people. 

So now, within the capital of Hollownest, Mothwing stood before the Pale King; a moth specializing in dreams at her side. 

“I assume this is the Wever I’ve,” she glanced at Mothwing, “read, I suppose, so much about?”

“You are correct,” the Pale King said with a nod before asking a question of his own. 

“Why are you here Seer? I did not summon you, and yet it seemed that you desired to brave the journey through the Crystal Peaks,” he traded glances between Mothwing and Ghost, “escorted.”

“I was aware of her presence here before you were, Pale King. I felt something, a vast expulsion of dream essence, somewhere within a thousand measures of it. Something, or someone,” she turned her head to the Wever on the bed, “tear through a veil and into the Dream Realm. Where she came from, what caused and required such a discharge of essence, I don’t know. But considering who’s realm is responsible, I feel it imperative we find out.”

The Pale King nodded, not noticing a light tugging on his sleeve. 

“What course of action do you recommend?”

The tugging increased.

“If possible, I would like to enter the patient's dream,” she replied, her eyes closed in thought. “It should be easy to learn where she’s from and how she got here; assuming she’s willing to listen.”

The tugging got more frantic.

“Very well. I just ask that you act quickly. I don’t want-- _what?”_ he asked admittedly a bit too sharply, turning to the Sibling who was tugging and pointing, trying desperately to get his attention.

**{SHE’S AWAKE!}**

The Pale King stared for a minute at the tablet in Ghost’s hand as he held it out in the most eye catching position possible. Then slowly, evenly, he turned his gaze toward the hospital bed; and beheld a spider sitting up and looking out the window.

When she turned her head back into the room, he happened to be the first thing her gaze landed on. He saw her eyes shoot open, before her expression morphed from one of surprise, to one of pure anger and _hatred_.

~ ~ ~

Hornet had been sure -- at first -- that she was awake now. Her consciousness had slowly strengthened until she was able to open her eyes. Her head happened to be facing the window when she did, the sight and noise of the rain endlessly falling outside bringing a strange sense of relief to her. That was the same at least, it was a good sign to her. 

She wasn’t yet awake enough for her to recognize that she was lying in a bed, nor that she had a different colored cloak on, and that her needle and everything else was currently missing from her grasp.

Of course, that quickly changed when she looked back into the rest of the room. 

There were a thousand and one things she didn’t ever want to see again -- and it was no exaggeration to say that the Pale King was _very_ high on that list. 

So when she saw that he was standing there in the same room, looking right at her, she was suddenly very much _not happy._ Not just because he was there, oh no, but also because of what he _meant._

And what he meant by being there, was that _she was yet again,_ **_still dreaming!_ **

Her anger for a split second was incalculable. 

A movement at the corner of her vision appeared right before she could say anything. She snapped her head to the side of her bed so hard you’d think she should have snapped her neck. 

But the instant she did, all that anger vanished, and was replaced by _horror._

A face greeted her, its hands holding a sign that read **{Hello!}** , and a body posture that displayed an obvious, more cheerful demeanor. That might have been surprising for someone who just woke up in a strange place, but it went far beyond just surprise for Hornet.

The thing was, she also recognized that face. She had only seen it once, but that was enough. It had been running from her -- terrified, or the closest thing a Vessel could have been. She had watched the life drain from its hollow eyes…

...after she murdered it in Greenpath.

Despite the understanding that it was impossible for it to be standing here, that this was most _certainly_ a dream, she couldn’t stop the shock, nor what it did to her mind and body in that moment.

She dashed in reverse away from the Vessel, the blankets catching her and tripping her onto the floor. She thrashed against them before she rose to her feet -- and almost immediately falling back down. She was weak, her muscles felt a harder strain, and her body felt impossibly heavy. She leaned a hand against the wall for support, the rest of her body in defensive mode. Her eyes on the glint from her needle, in the hands of a bug that also seemed familiar, though to a lesser degree. 

She dashed across the room and grabbed her needle, ripping it out of the hands of the bug who held it. Not missing a beat, she spun around and used the momentum from the spin to hurl her needle through the window. She felt her weapon stick into another building unseen, and like that she was gone. 


	7. Upheaval

Chapter 7: Upheaval

The Watcher stared out of his telescope, observing those below from the tallest building in the City of Tears. There was very little that happened under the rain that was capable of alluding him. Honestly though, it wasn't the little he inevitably missed, but what he couldn't and often didn't miss that had actually begun to worry him. The corruption, the lies, the deceit, the general moral decay of those in power, and the abuse of their positions. 

He was just glad that none of them had authority over the city guard. Not even the King, whom he trusted dearly, had any say over what the guards should do at any moment. They, and him by extension, were _the_ authority within the city; and were strictly ordered to not care who disobeyed the laws within, peasant or noble.

And as the Watcher watched over his city, a glint from a strand of silk caught his eye. He followed it, and the telescope revealed a bug in a hospital gown, hanging off the side of a building. He could see the bug held on with only one hand, not even trying to hug the wall for stability. The pose seemed natural for it, almost casual. Judging by this strange bug’s face though, he could tell that internally it was very confused.

~ ~ ~

The rain soaked her body as Hornet dashed through the air before clinging to the side of a building. 

She had made the habit of ignoring the city guards the few times she visited back before the Radiance’s defeat. They’d rarely slowed her down enough for her to even bother fighting them. Never worth the time, or the effort; not when she could just rush past them -- as she was doing now.

As she did, in the deepest part of her mind, burrowed beneath the mild turmoil of panic and confusion, she recognized something was off about the city -- but not in the way she had expected. She had taken the fact that the guards were still here and not rotting on the ground as yet another sign that she was dreaming; with the assumption that the side of her that wanted her dead had sent the guards. But she couldn’t shake this gut feeling that all of that was wrong -- that this felt far too much like reality to just be another dream.

It was all too well put together. Where were the signs that indicated a dream? There were no blurred faces when she stared for long enough. No words were missing from conversations; conversations and voices she had never _heard_ before. And above all that, despite this obviously being the City of Tears… so much was different. Not just that everything was unkempt and not fallen to ruin, but also that layouts, some buildings; everything looked like it was thriving -- better than even how the city looked before the infection had taken hold.

She quickly _tried_ to chalk it up to just ‘the-part-of-her-wanting-her-dead’s attempt to confuse her. But when the thought entered her mind, her gut was slammed with an impossible to ignore feeling that she was wrong -- that she knew what this was, as impossible as it seemed. And yet, she could ignore it; for now anyway.

Without the stretches in her logic, it wasn’t at that moment making any sense. So she quickly focused on something else to distract her mind.

She realized then that the cloak she wore smelt of Lifeblood. She had never had much use for it before, there weren’t many things that had been able to harm her enough. The things that could, she made sure to keep clear of. She spent much of her time patrolling well traveled routes where the enemies were often far too slow to touch her. She was far from lazy though. Whenever she discovered something that might potentially be able to get to the King’s Brand, she ended it quickly. 

Hollownest needed to be preserved how it was, until a Vessel powerful enough to defeat the source of the infection could present itself. If it couldn’t defeat Hornet, it certainly couldn’t defeat the source. 

It wouldn’t even have survived an encounter with the Hollow Knight. Judging by its memorial--

Wait a minute… _where was the Hollow Knight Memorial?!_

With wide eyes, she let go of the building and let herself swing to a stop in front of where the statue should have been. There was no mistaking the spot, the buildings surrounding it had been the least changed out of all of them. Yet right in the city square, where the crumbling and cracked statue should have been standing, was just a simple, generic, fountain. 

She stood there for a moment, needle at her side, diluted lifeblood slowly dripping out of her soaked gown and into the gutter, the one who wore its source completely dumbfounded. Her mouth opened and closed, trying to form words that weren’t coming. Why take away the Memorial? What was her other half trying to prove?

Her head shot over to face the sound of a high pitched whistle. She was startled to see it was coming from a guard, not one mindlessly in pursuit, propelled by the searing infection; but free of its effects. She could see, besides just a desire to catch her, but genuine intelligence, and independent sentience. This was not true for just that bug, and not just for its fellow guards, but -- as she turned and saw for herself -- all those present. Guard and civilian. And they were all looking squarely at her.

Some with curiosity, others surprise; she saw a few children held by a parent, and there were a few who she recognized were from the upper crust. The last of these were looking at her with mitigating anger and annoyance, as if they were upset their day had been mildly interrupted by her unwelcome presence. She was made keenly aware of all the eyes focused on her dripping frame.

And suddenly, she felt very exposed. 

She shivered and shrank back at the alien feeling, glancing between the guards as they approached and attempted to create a containing bubble around her. The hand holding her needle tightened its grip on the instrument, and as her anxiety rose she felt herself slipping into a defensive stance. 

This was not lost on the guards, and she noted several preparing their nails and lances in stances of their own.

Then without warning, they all heard the sound of heavy wing beats approaching. And before any of them could realize what was going on, a moderately small Sibling slipped through the blockade, spun around upon landing, and lifted its hands above and in front of its head. Hornet’s eyes widened. 

She recognized that silhouette from anywhere. When she finally spoke, her voice almost wasn't even a whisper.

“Ghost?”

~ ~ ~

When he was sure that the guards understood that he was telling them to wait, Ghost calmly turned around and faced the confused and dripping wet Wever. He quickly noticed that her gaze was one of someone who seemed to recognize him; and so he attempted to make himself seem as friendly as possible, gently lowering his arms as he stepped toward her. 

**{I} {mean you} {no harm} [Stop.]** he said. **{** **Are you alright?} {Are you hurt?} [Stop.]**

She slowly shook her head, her recognition not fading; though the surprise in on her face notably increased. He paused, hoping the awkwardness he felt was coming through in his body language. It had ironically made things easier before.

**{If it’s alright} {would you} {come back} {to} {the} {hospital} {?} [Stop.]**

Her eyes quickly narrowed, and he saw the telltale stance of someone forming a more defensive stance. That wasn’t good, he knew she still needed to be monitored and treated. He quickly tried to quell her anger and convince her to do so. 

**{Was it} {the bug} {with} {the crown} {?} [Stop.] {I can} {have} {it} {so} {he isn’t} {there} {when we} {get back} {if} {that’s what} {you want} [Stop.]**

She seemed to pause at that, straighten up slightly, and closer her eyes for a moment to consider it. Finally, after a tense moment, she nodded and lowered her defenses. 

The guards did the same when they sensed the immediate threat was gone for now. 

Ghost allowed a very brief sigh from himself before he turned around, motioned in the direction of the hospital, and began walking. He was happy to hear a moment later the sound of the Wever's footsteps behind him, and blankly the sound of the city guards around her. They walked, and continued walking, as they made their way to Lifeblood Hospital. 

**_Mothwing,_ **he called out.

**_Ghost? Are you ok? Do you have her?_ **

**_Yes. We're enroute for the hospital now. Is father still there?_ **

**_Yes. He said he didn’t want to chase after her and risk a fight breaking out, considering how she reacted to him… and me…_ **

**_Mothwing, no one is holding this against you. We know almost nothing about what’s going on, or WHY she reacted the way she did. We just_ ** **_don’t know_ ** **_yet. Jumping to conclusions at this point will only-_ **

_"Ahhhhhhhh!"_

Ghost's head snapped to the side at the sound of the scream. He’d have to make it up to Mothwing later and personally reassure her. 

Down an alley, he saw a pair of silhouettes illuminated by a small lumifly lamp that had fallen to the ground. The signs of an obvious struggle paramount. 

Ghost quickly jumped into action, and began chasing after someone for the second time that day. The silhouettes violently separated, one being thrown to the ground, the other running. Ghost guessed that whoever ran was trying to make use of the chaos the Wever's run has caused. Probably a petty theft. He knew it wouldn’t be the first time it happened here.

He passed the victim; the guards would take care of her, he was faster on the wing, he could catch the perpetrator quicker than they could. 

Suddenly though, the thief disappeared; seemingly vanishing into the ground. Ghost backpedaled, drawing out a lumifly lamp -- it confirmed what he had immediately suspected. The lid for the city’s waterways was open, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out where the thief probably was. 

Ghost was suddenly very thankful for his weak sense of smell as he prepared to jump in after. His attempt was momentarily halted when a dripping blue blur charged in ahead of him. 

Was that~?

He shook his head before jumping in himself; he _really_ didn’t want to have to deal with this right now!


	8. Catch a Thief, Find a Heart

Chapter 8: Catch a Thief, Find a Heart

Ghost held his personal lumifly lantern at waist level, his never ending stare pointed forward into the darkness. The sound of consistent splashing echoed through the tunnel as he trudged through it. His whole body felt the dampness around him in the atmosphere. On every surface, between every brick, leaking out of several pipes endlessly flowed a mixture of water and he-probably-didn’t-want-to-know-what-else. The passage was so humid he could already tell that he would need to dry out his cloak; that is, if it wasn’t washed first -- or burned -- after all this from the smell alone.

These Waterways were one of the few places in all of Hollownest he had seldom explored with company, and only once attempted to do so alone. Back then, he had been foolish enough to not even have a light source with him. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark -- he was unsure if it was even physiology possible for any of his Siblings to be -- but the fact remained that going without a light source into the unknown had been a mistake. 

He couldn’t see in pitch darkness after all. And no one ever did find the source of the Flukemon infestation he could _hear_ was still present within the Waterways.

It was nowhere near as bad as it could be, but Ghost hadn’t gone very far and already he could hear the parasites deep below him. He shuttered. He hated those things. Every time he thought he was done with one, it turned out all he did was split it in half… which he then had to deal with the other two halves as well, independently, after he thought he had finally ended it as more and more came.

He shook the memories away for now. 

Keep it simple. Find the thief, find the Wever, get back what was stolen, (make sure she didn’t kill the guy in the process), get out. 

He wasn’t sure if he should feel more relieved or upset when he heard her voice just before she entered his own sightline.

“Good to see you made it, ghost of hollownest,” she said while on her knee, pointing down a path bathed in the lantern's light. “He went down this tunnel, probably heading for the bench down there so he can figure out what he took.”

Ghost tilted his head quizzically. 

She answered: “I can smell him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Ghost would have blinked in surprise if he had the eyelids to do so. He didn’t doubt the capabilities of her sense of smell, he was just startled that she was perfectly willing to track his probably faint scent in... well, _this_ place. The thought was distracting enough to nearly miss that she had already started walking in the direction she faced. 

When he realized she was moving away, he quickly rushed to catch up with her. Out of nowhere though, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

What followed was a period of relative quiet as they both stood there for a moment, until finally _she_ broke the silence.

“This… isn’t a dream... is it,” she quietly stated, turning her head just enough to see the Sibling out of the corner of her eye. Ghost responded with a simple shake of his head.

She turned her head forward again. “I had a feeling. Though I have no idea how any of this is possible, here I am. Alive. In a world that is still alive and well. Where those whom I’ve _seen_ die are alive and well. I suppose I should…” 

She paused again for a moment.

“Well, I’ll worry about that later. Right now we have a thief to catch.”

She had just started walking again when she felt her Sibling grab her hand. She turned her head, enough to look squarely at him this time.

**{Who are you?}**

She turned forward again at the question, and Ghost could feel her body tense with barely composed emotion. She took in a breath.

“An al-- a friend,” she finally breathed. It felt like she was putting an end to the conversation. Oddly enough, while this was happening, it seemed to Ghost that he could almost... sense the Wever’s emotions. Not just from the physical sensation of holding her hand, but something more close to home for himself. Something… almost like a Sibling, transmitting their thoughts through the void like a beacon or flare. It was much weaker, like a shallow stream where there should be rapids.

And yet, it also almost felt like a heart being softened.

“We should get going,” she said as she finally pulled away from him. He stayed close behind her this time. None of what had transpired should have been possible. The fact that it had happened implied something Ghost hadn’t considered. 

Something told him a lot of things in his life were about to change.

~ ~ ~

If Hornet could be honest, she couldn’t remember when she had felt this good, or even allowed herself to. She wouldn’t deny the apparent irony of that statement being made in the Royal freaking Waterways, but she was willing to ignore it. 

She loathed the place, truth be told; but that fact was low hanging lifeseed, and she knew it. She didn’t really have any physical locations she truly ‘loved’, just places she loathed in lesser amounts. That _included_ her birthplace in Deepnest. 

She was a reward for a dalliance, an illegitimate heir, a bastard princess, nothing more in the eyes who mattered enough to make a difference.

Not even her mother was completely innocent of that. 

Of course, that was the Hollownest _she_ knew. _This_ Hollownest… well, it remained to be seen, but she had never had this positive of an outlook in life before. She almost felt… happy. **Almost.**

The pair were finally approaching the drop toward the bench. Hornet held out her arm to get the Sibling to stop. “Put your lamp away for now. You can surprise him when we drop -- make him panic, clumsy.”

Ghost stared at her for a moment before he complied. It was clear he had some lingering suspicions -- honestly she wouldn’t blame him for it -- but she could tell he knew the plan was a smart move. They knew where he was now, but if he saw the light he could make a run for it and it would become that much harder to track him. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be an extreme problem for Hornet, but she had never been in the Royal Waterways when it was actively being this… utilized. The stench was powerful, though just tolerable at this higher level within. Any deeper into the Waterways and her already overwhelmed sense of smell would lose all trace of him. 

The tunnel was dark again with the absence of Ghost’s lantern. Hornet quietly took his hand and led him toward the drop. She couldn’t see in pitch darkness either, though it was better than Ghost’s and she could rely on her other senses. 

As they approached, neither of the two dared even think; relying on feeling and instinct to guide them. 

At the edge, Hornet could just make out the sound of rustling far below, and sensed very faint movement at the bottom. Hornet gave Ghost’s hand a light squeeze, and together they stepped off into the drop. 

Two thirds of the way down, Ghost pulled out his lantern, bathing the passage with light while he reached for his nail. 

Hornet meanwhile held her needle facing down to strike, while she arched her body in an obviously threatening position. 

To her satisfaction, she saw the thief’s eyes look up and widen in terror at the sight of the pair. He tried to roll away off the crooked bench, down into a deeper hole; in the process spilling the contents of the bag onto the floor. 

“Shaw!” came the battle cry just before Hornet’s needle impaled the ground right where the thief was _about_ to be. He stopped just in time to avoid the edge, and he crawled on his back in the direction of the bench. He was trying to put distance between himself and the Wever with the livid stance and merciless glare. 

He was so transfixed he didn’t see the Sibling until he had the edge of a nail at his neck. He stopped with no more room to back up, and the spider approached.

“Who are you, who was the one you stole from, and _why_ did you steal from her?”

The thief glared back at her. “Go jump in the Abyss,” he spat. 

Her own stare didn’t change at the statement. Then it got more intense.

“Perhaps you’ll be more willing to talk after I string you up and dangle you over--” her approach was immediately halted by Ghost as he practically jumped in front of her, desperately waving his arms in a body language that radiated panic. 

She stopped in her tracks and stared at him confused. Her mind in that moment was psychologically incapable of understanding what he was trying to get at. Did he… _not_ want the information?

Ghost quickly reached into his cloak.

**{Not our job} [Stop.] {Leave the} {questioning} {to the} {Watcher} {and} {city guards} [Stop.]**

Hornet shut her eyes as she considered it for a moment. Finally she relaxed with a sigh and conceded to Ghost’s request. She looked up just in time to see the thief trying to escape through the other tunnel, her eyes narrowed, and with a flick of her wrist laced multiple strands around the thief's ankle. 

He let out a yelp as he tripped and hit the floor, soaking the rest of his body. 

Hornet shouldn’t have been surprised. She quietly scolded herself for letting him almost slip past her. What was going on with her? Her mind and her stomach were in turmoil. While she always had emotions, they were never this strong, never this… prevalent. Some she didn’t even recognize. But there was also something else, not an emotion, but a feeling nonetheless.

Why did that feeling seem to tell her she that her whole life was about to change?


End file.
